Mags put her arms around her. Leila was a tall, handsome woman in her late thirties with a round face and bright eyes. She wore a pale yellow trouser suit which accentuated her smooth ebony skin.
“Listen,” said Tom. “We must get ourselves together for Jack and Jason’s sake. God knows what they must be feeling, but we won’t help them by falling apart. We must try to be strong for them.”
That was as much as he could bring himself to say, but it had a stabilising effect and they had all managed to compose themselves by the time two prison officers entered the room a few minutes later.
“Good Morning, I’m Emily Parker, Senior Prison Officer, and this is Prison Officer Jools Gorton.”
She stepped forward and shook hands with all four of them, addressing them individually as she did so. She was of average height with a sturdy figure and kind, friendly smile. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Jools followed her along the line, also shaking their hands. He was almost a head taller than Emily, very slim, with a pleasant, boyish face.
“Follow me, please,” said Emily, raising her arm to indicate the way. “We’ll explain what the arrangements are in a few moments.”
She led them down a whitewashed corridor, with Jools bringing up the rear. At a T-junction, they stopped.
“Mr Midanda this way, please,” said Emily indicating to the right.
“Give Jack my love,” said Katey. “I’ll go with Leila to see Jason, but tell him I’ll see him soon.”
They followed Emily as Jools walked past Tom and Mags, leading them off to the left without speaking. Ahead of them, another female officer was waiting next to a long table near a heavy metal door with a combined handle and keypad, which faced them at the end of the short passageway. On the wall above the table was a large monitor screen. She stepped forward, extending her hand to greet them.
“Good morning, I’m Phoebe Barnes, Prison Officer.”
Phoebe was almost a carbon copy of her senior colleague; same height and build and with a ponytail, except that her hair was blonde.
“I’m sorry, sir, madam,” she said, “but we have to do this. Could you leave your bag on the table, madam, and both empty your pockets. Everything, please. That way we can raise the glass panel in the room, if you wish.”
They complied, showing no emotion. With some embarrassment Phoebe took a hand-held metal detector from a bracket on the wall and passed it over Mags as quickly and unobtrusively as possible before passing it to Jools who did the same with Tom.
“Jack is in there,” said Phoebe. “There is another prison officer with him at present and a glass panel which separates them from the part of the room you’ll enter into. Once you are inside and seated, we will leave the room and the panel will be raised so you will be able to… get closer if you wish. However, we shall be monitoring the meeting, visually and aurally. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” said Mags. “I don’t understand why!”
Phoebe looked at Tom for support. He nodded to her but said nothing. Mags was entitled to her anger, he thought; it was a relief to hear her express any feelings at all.
As Phoebe turned to open the door, Mags grabbed his hand, interlinking their fingers and squeezing tightly. Her nails dug into the flesh between his knuckles so that he momentarily winced with pain. They followed the officer into the room with eyes impatiently seeking the first sight of their son for nearly seventy-two hours. He was wearing blue jeans and a white hooded top over a black tee shirt and was seated on a basic wooden chair behind a glass screen, which reached from floor to ceiling and across the full width of the room.
The prison officer was standing in a formal ‘at-ease’ position just behind him. Jack’s face was without expression and only his eyes moved as they entered, turning to look at them without any hint of acknowledgement or recognition. Tom could feel the whole weight of Mags’s body transferred through the grip on his hand as she fought to steady herself.
Phoebe indicated for them to sit down on two similar chairs, which faced their son through the screen. They sank, rather than sat, onto them and she nodded to her colleague on the other side of the glass. He removed a key from his pocket, inserting it into a small control box on the wall, and turning it through 90 degrees. Then he pressed and held in a mushroom shaped knob next to it and the glass panel slowly lifted through the ceiling of the room, finally disappearing altogether.
Both officials turned to leave, the one who had been with Jack through a second door on his side of the room. Phoebe turned back to them as she left.
“You have just over an hour,” she checked her watch, “until eleven-thirty. If you wish to terminate the meeting before that, just indicate to the camera up there.” She pointed to the wall above the door. “There will, of course, be other opportunities to visit Jack. You can all leave your seats, but please be aware that we shall be observing you throughout the session as I explained.”
She closed the door behind her.
For several seconds no one moved. Jack’s eyes were still on them but continued to show no emotion, as if he was unsure what to expect. Then Mags flew out of her chair, throwing her arms around him.
“Oh, Jack, Jack, darling …” she cried, her tears soaking his shirt. Tom followed, wrapping his arms around them both. Jack succumbed, his head dropping into his mother’s hair, and his own tears flowed.
They stayed in that position for a full minute, gently rocking back and forth as finally their shaking shoulders came to rest. Jack stiffened and pulled away from them, his face a blank mask again. He looked from one to the other and then relaxed a little.
Tom and Mags backed away to their own chairs. They each tried to pull them closer to Jack, but found they were fixed to the floor. Jack remained still, only his eyes moving, now flicking round the room looking everywhere but at his parents.
“Darling, are you alright?” Mags asked.
Jack’s eyes fixed on her, widening. Then he began to shake. It was a few moments before they realised he was laughing, silently and maniacally, until he seemed almost out of control. He broke the silence with a great guffaw.
“Alright! Alright! … Never been better, seeing as you’re asking. Three meals a day; don’t have to tidy my room – well there’s nothing in it to tidy, come to think of it – daytime television, which features me and Jay most of the time, by the way and, guess what, in a couple of weeks I’m going on holiday – for ever! Of course I’m not fucking alright!”
He crumpled forwards and doubled over, his chest almost falling onto his knees. They both went to him. He straightened up and clung to Mags.
“Mum I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s alright, darling …darling Jack,” she said. “It was a stupid question. I didn’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay, Mum. I understand.”
He pushed Mags slowly away, still holding her gently by the shoulders at arms length.
“I’ll tell you what you can say,” he said, looking from one to the other again. “You can say you believe I’m innocent.”
“Jack, we know you’re innocent.” Mags spoke almost before the words were out of his mouth. “We never, for one minute, doubted it.”
Jack’s expression hardened again.
“I want him to say it!” he snapped, turning to his father.
The coldness in Jack’s voice and eyes was enough to stay any immediate response from Tom.
“Well?” Jack’s voice was fiercely demanding of an answer.
“I have great difficulty believing you had anything to do with this, Jack. I feel …”
Mags turned to stare at him in disbelief.
“Great difficulty believing?” said Jack, his voice shaking with fury. “Well, you’re a man who’s used to overcoming great difficulty, aren’t you? So, let’s hear it, Father. Let’s hear the conclusion you’ve had great difficulty reaching!”
Mags looked at her husband as he again struggled with his reply.
“It’s fucking important to me! I just want to know what you think. Can’t you stop being a politician for a minute and just be my father. There’ll be plenty of time in the future to be a politician; you’ve only got a few days left to be my father!”
The tears welled in Tom’s eyes.
“Jack, I …”
“Too late, Dad; I wouldn’t believe you now anyway. You had your chance. You have to think I’m guilty, don’t you? Otherwise your whole new super-duper fucking justice system’s a crock of shit! Right?”
He leaned forward again into Mags’s arms.
“I’d like to be alone with you, please, Mum. I want him to leave.”
Mags turned to Tom. She nodded to him with an expression that said, “Go, it will be alright.” He rose from the chair and shuffled towards the door, which was opened by Phoebe as he reached it.
Tom stepped outside the room. The two officers were seated at the long table facing the screen showing the scene inside. Phoebe glanced at him with a look of disgust, which contrasted starkly with her unspoken sympathy of just a few minutes ago. Jools ignored him completely. As his mind reeled, he was suddenly aware of familiar voices. Mags and Jack were talking and – of course – as well as observing, they were hearing every word.
“Can I listen … and watch?” he asked.
Phoebe nodded.
“If you’re sure you want to,” said Jools.
He stood behind them facing the screen.
“You must understand, Jack, your father loves you so very much,” Mags said, her voice tiny through the speaker. The monitor showed her moving in her chair.
“Maybe he does,” Jack said, “but what I need more than that is for him to believe me. I’m finished, Mum, finished. How long do you think I’ll last on one of those off-shore things? A day? A week? The one source of any comfort I had to look forward to half-an-hour ago was my parents stating, loudly and clearly, that they knew I hadn’t done it. That would have given me something positive to take away with me. Knowing that you knew I hadn’t let you down.”
Mags began crying again. “Oh, Jack, please let him come back in. I’m sure …”
“It’s too late, Mum. I knew you would believe me. I never doubted that for a moment. But I guess I always wondered…”
He broke down himself again and they held each other tightly in silence for a long time. Tom turned away and leant against the opposite wall of the passageway, his forehead resting on his folded arms, oblivious to his audience and with tears running and dropping to the floor. He heard Mags’ voice again and turned back to the screen.
“Please let your father come back in, Jack. I know he won’t if you don’t want him to, but I think you should.”
Jack remained still in his mother’s embrace for a long time, and then gave a single nod of his head.
“Is that yes?” asked Mags.
Jack nodded again, without speaking. Phoebe rose from her chair and opened the door, inviting Tom to enter without looking at him.
“Ten more minutes,” she said.
He stood just inside the door as it closed behind him. Mags looked across at him and smiled through her tears. He walked quickly across the room and put his arms around them both.
“We’ve ten minutes left,” he whispered. “Until next time,” he added. “And I do believe you, Jack, I really do.”
Jack sat up. When he spoke, it was to Tom, and his voice was cold again.
“Well, if that’s true – I mean if you really believe that I’m innocent, then it goes without saying that you must also believe that someone is guilty of setting me up. And, with time running out, I expect you are currently bringing to bear all the resources at your disposal in order to find them. And that being the case, then I won’t keep you, Father. Best you leave right away and get on with it before it’s too late.”
Tom sat back down on his chair.
“I’m doing what I can. Please believe me. I’m sorry if I let you down today. Your mum is right, though. I love you very much.”
No-one spoke again until the door opened and Phoebe entered the room.
“Time’s up, I’m afraid,” she said, adding, “until tomorrow, of course.”
Mags had continued holding Jack and now she slowly stood up looking very unsteady. Tom rose from his chair and stepped over to them, taking Mags’s hand again and placing the other on Jack’s shoulder.
Jack tilted his head sideways so it lay briefly on his father’s hand. It was the smallest of gestures. Mags bent down to him again and placed her arms around his neck, kissing him gently on the forehead.
“Until tomorrow,” she said.
Jack suddenly looked up.
“Where’s Katey?” he asked.
“With Jason and his mum,” Mags replied. “She sends her love and said she’ll see you soon.”
He nodded. “It had better be very soon,” he said, almost to himself, as they left the room.
*
“Hello, Home Secretary? It’s Phoebe here, Prison Officer at Guildford. Excuse me for calling you at home, but …”
“How did you get this number?”
“Mr Mackay let me have it. He said you wouldn’t mind.”
“That depends,” said Tom. “Is it Jack? Is he alright?”
“Yes, sir, but he has asked if he could see you separately at some time. He seems to want it kept secret from the rest of your family. Perhaps you can give me a time, one morning perhaps in the next couple of days…”
“Did he say what it’s about?”
“No, he’s just mentioned it now; he said it was private.”
“I see,” said Tom, absently.
“I really think you should say yes, sir.”
“Oh, of course,” said Tom. “I was just wondering why – I mean – it having to be kept secret from … and all. Look, I won’t say tomorrow, because I don’t want to leave my wife on her own just yet. Possibly the day after. Would you explain that to Jack, please? So he doesn’t think I’m just putting him off. I know he worries about his mum, like I do, so I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“It would be better if I could tell him definitely the next day, sir. It would be good for him to have something certain to be thinking about.”
“Okay, definitely the next day,” said Tom. “What time’s best, do you think?”
“As early as possible. Could you make it, say, eight o’clock?”
Tom thought for a moment.
“That’s fine,” he said, ending the call.
He heard the front door close. Looking out of his office window, he saw Mags get into her Range Rover and drive off.
*
It was almost 5.00 pm. Jo was planning an early start to the weekend which she had arranged to spend with her friend in London. Someone’s outline appeared behind the frosted glass door of her office.
“Come in,” said Jo, before they had chance to knock.
Detective Constable Shana Whitlock entered, closing the door behind her and leaning with her back against it.
“Hi, Shans,” said Jo. “You look very furtive.”
“Sorry, I know you’re trying to get a flyer, ma’am, but there’s someone here to see you.”
“Well? Who? Not Leonardo di Capprio!? Oh for God’s sake, that guy won’t take ‘no’ for an answer …”
Shana smiled.
“Do you seriously think I’d be in here telling you if it was? I’d be out there with him, claiming I was you.” She became serious. “No, but it is someone you might want to see. In fact, I’m not sure it would be a good idea to avoid …”
“Okay, okay, I give in. Please tell me who it is …”
“Maggie Tomlinson-Brown.”
Jo looked at her, wide-eyed.
“Are you sure? Well of course you are. I didn’t mean that. I mean … what does she want
?”
“To see you, that’s all she’d say. Oh, except could she see you somewhere more private, so she doesn’t have to walk through …?”
“Yes, of course,” said Jo, thinking about the circumstances of the only time they had previously met. “Is she angry? How does she seem?”
“Very keen to see you,” said Shana. “You could use the Chief’s office now he’s gone. I could bring her up the back stairs. She’s waiting outside.”
“Okay. I’ll go there now and wait.”
Her reaction to seeing Mags was one of shock and disbelief. Jo was sure she would not have recognised her if they had been the only two people in a lift together. She still had the same stunningly beautiful presence, but her face was thinner and her expression reflected the desperate agony of recent weeks. Even so, she was composed and surprisingly gracious, given Jo’s role in the current plight of her son. She shook her hand and thanked Jo for seeing her. They sat down, facing each other across John Mackay’s desk.
“This is completely off the record, Detective Inspector, so please hear me out. I absolutely promise you that I will not repeat anything we talk about today to another living soul. Unless you want me to, of course.”
Jo nodded slowly. Mags hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully.
“I know for absolute certain that my son is innocent.”
She spoke very slowly and paused after the statement. Jo took a sharp intake of breath.
“You would expect me to say that, of course,” she continued, smiling thinly, “so nothing unusual there. However, what would be much more unusual is if you believed he was innocent as well.”
Jo’s stomach did a little flip.
“I don’t suppose it really matters one way or the other what you believe,” Mags went on. “You catch the bad guys – suspected bad guys – and hand them over with the evidence for someone else to decide what to do with them. That’s what you’ve done in relation to this particular case; and done it well, I believe. Certainly my husband thinks so. But that doesn’t mean that the right verdict was reached in that courtroom on Tuesday, does it?”
“Mrs Tomlinson Brown …”
“That’s such a mouthful,” Mags smiled again. “Please call me Maggie.”
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